Paris
by NoOriginalityHereMoveAlong
Summary: Pairing: Emily/Andy; Emily/Serena  very briefly . A little insight into Emily. AU as Andy never went to Paris.


_******Disclaimer: **None of these characters are mine.  
__**Author's Note:** A little insight into Emily. Somewhat AU in that Andy didn't go to Paris. _

* * *

_You can't_.

The first time her inner voice protested about skipping a meal, she clenched her teeth and changed inflection—her own taking on her mother's sneering lilt; and just like that, suddenly she could. The food was just another obstacle, another barrier her mother had erected in the hopes of seeing her daughter fail.

Each cube of cheese became a feast, a mental victory over her mother's taunting words.

_You won't._

The second obstacle was ever so much harder; the mountain of compassion an Everest she thought almost impossible to level. And yet again, her mother followed her with every step: providing hate-filled words, ad-libbing cruel remarks; the endless source of Emily's cold bitter sarcasm.

Each friend she lost became a testament, a symbol she had shed the tender girl her mother taunted her would never last a day in a city like New York.

_You'll never be able to._

The third was curiously easy, perhaps a by-product of the second, maybe a simple evolution based on what she'd given up already. If none around you were friends, what did it matter if you pushed them, or if you hurt them—used them to fulfil your dreams? Sure, the initial pangs had been a bitch… but the minute another week rolled by and you were still employed, the instant that the richness of that midnight Valentino sheathed your curves as surely as principles, the supple leather of the Prada kissed your feet, well… it was easy to pretend that those fawning at your side were all that you had ever needed, that they would pave the way for your success.

Eventually the lie entwined with the truth until it got much harder to distinguish which was which, and it became impossible to tell those truly lacking competence from those she had made to look as such. And in the end, she told herself, what did it really matter? Organic failure or fashioned, if their chosen world _was_ to be fashion, she only did them all a favour teaching them the nature of the beast.

Each girl she scythed down in her path became a physical reminder, the bodies trailing in her wake a litany: _I can, I will, I am able to_… I am going to prove you wrong.

"You were such a bitch to the new girl today, do you know that?"

The words spoken in an oddly revering fashion sent tingles of euphoria along her body. "And yet I see that you're still here."

"You want me to leave?" The flawless face lifted just slightly from between her legs, an elegant eyebrow raised in question.

"Only if you want to miss out on a mind-blowing orgasm. Your call." Shrugging her shoulders she donned the mask of utter indifference she'd practiced every night for the last five years in front of the ornate mirror, her most worthwhile investment.

A different kind of elation shot along her nerve endings as Serena resumed her task, sending only the same message of affirmation. She _was_ a royal bitch and yet this stunningly beautiful creature, the closest facsimile Emily had to a friend, chose to remain. She'd been right all along, this—this was exactly what it took to get her what she wanted.

Miranda Priestly's way would never see her wrong.

* * *

"You were supposed to go to Paris. Like the world's biggest idiot I served it to you on a silver platter. Why didn't you?"

For once the easily donned mask remains elusive, out of reach. Euphoria is just as far away, there's only anger—crushing disappointment; its cause a mystery, its messenger stood tall as if aware she's about to take its brunt.

"I'd never do that to you. You know that."

"Do I?" The sting of tears prickles her eyes just as the shadow on uncertainty punctures her words; the question's barb coated with poison at both ends.

"Let me tell you what I do know – you are angry, furious. Because in the end, I did betray you, didn't I, Em? I ripped away all those carefully built illusions."

"As ever, you overreach on your importance."

"You'll think of me—when you least expect it, you'll think about what I did."

"Not for a second." The firmness turns into a question, Emily can't tell if only in her mind. The wash of panic forces the contempt, "By tomorrow, I'll have forgotten your name… just like Miranda. Enjoy fading back into whichever obscurity you came from."

Just as all else, Andrea doesn't hide the tears, "That's it. Just like that?"

"You were a sodding shag, Andy. What—did you think this was forever?"

Only once the unwieldy lie sidles off her tongue, its callous weight imbedded in Andrea's suddenly stiff form, does Emily acknowledge it as such.

"Take care, Em. I hope you find what you're looking for."

Of course by then, it is already far too late.

* * *

"Last year's Valentino. On you, almost passable. Especially since you've gained a pound or two since I last saw you."

"Emily." The wariness which flits through Andy's eyes sends an unwilling pang to Emily's chest. "Actually, I've gained five. How kind of you to notice…."

"Fiv—" She barely halts her squeak of indignation as her eyes greedily lap up the changes. The truth is that no-one has ever worn five pounds better than Andrea. "Well," still nigh on impossible to choke out kind words three years on, but on this occasion she's prepared to try. "I suppose you are no longer in fashion."

"Neither are you from what I hear."

"Yes, well, things change."

"Not when you live and breathe something with slavish devotion. You gave up," Andy seems to hesitate as though mulling over her words, "everything. Why—I mean—?"

"I realised I wanted something more."

"You did?" Andy's expression softens imperceptibly; to Emily's long-yearning eye with wistfulness, to her cold rationale with mere politeness.

"Yes, do you—"

"There she is!" Brash tones intrude, shattering the fragile moment and her confidence. "There's the lady of the hour." Strong arms enfold the willowy brunette from behind, missing the fleeting shadow of discomfort.

This time the rationale outweighs the yearning, Emily's lips widening into a practiced smile, "Yes, congratulations, Andrea. The award is well deserved. Enjoy—" at a loss for words that won't sound clichéd and trite, she acknowledges her limitation with a rueful head shake, false polish melting into tender resignation. "Enjoy."

* * *

"Will you always walk away when things don't turn out as you planned?" The casual words are as acute as their owner, framed in the entry way to Emily's apartment.

"You've ruined a perfectly good dress." For whatever reason it's all that she can think of, all that she can say; caught as her vision is by vivid curves, outlined by the soaked fabric; clinging to everything that she's remembered and forgotten.

"I like destroying trappings."

"You do it very well."

"So you did think of me."

"Only about a thousand times… back then. Now—now only every other day." Parrying to gain an upper hand again, she pries, "Did you really walk ten blocks—in that?"

"This couldn't wait."

"What about the goon?" Sniffing delicately, Emily glances away so that she can mourn in privacy Andy's inevitably girlish gushing.

"Rob. He was there for me when I needed a friend." Taking a step over the threshold, Andy pauses a foot away, her fingertips gently swivelling Emily's head until she's facing the familiar dark stare. "You know, this might be our first genuine exchange."

"No," Emily moves forward till their bodies almost touch, "you do look passable in Valentino and I meant it when I said you earned whichever pitiful award they chose to bestow tonight."

"Oh Em," the laughter crinkles Andy's nose, lighting up her face, "you know which one."

"Well, one could hardly miss the garish advertising sprinkled like some cheap confetti."

"You went to school."

"Yes, most people do. Are these the kind of detective skills which landed you that undercover story?"

"Okay, you went _back_ to school," Andy's thumb brushes along Emily's bottom lip, her gaze intent only on the recipient of her administrations.

"Do you have," short of breath and moisture for a second, Emily nervously flicks out her tongue, brushing the offending digit momentarily, "some sort of fetish I don't know about?"

"Only you, Emily Charlton. I've never been able to forget you."

"I highly doubt that." Even within an arm's length of her goal, she can't help but recoil from the sentiment so irreconcilable with what she was.

"You doubt far too many things. But that's okay, this time I am going to stick around and teach you."

"Only if I let you." It comes out as a moan; Andy's insistent fingers tangling in her hair.

The answer's lost within a clash of famished lips. "We both know you already have."


End file.
